


A Night to Remember

by ASongofIceandHope



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Domestic Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, One Shot, RMS Titanic, Titanic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 19:31:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17250053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASongofIceandHope/pseuds/ASongofIceandHope
Summary: A doomed transatlantic crossing brings both opportunity and entertainment to the Riddles — and tragedy to so many others. *Titanic AU*





	A Night to Remember

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, okay!  
> I’m so excited about this AU and I really wanted to get it published in time for Tom’s birthday!! Big thanks to brightneeBee and Kyoki for looking this monster of an AU over for me; I’m so appreciative of them!

On the RMS _Titanic_ ’s maiden voyage, stateroom B-51 was occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Tom Riddle Jr. The couple was accompanied by some of Mr. Riddle’s work associates, as he was crossing the Atlantic on business; his intention in making the journey was to force a merger with his distant cousins, the Sayres. Riddle’s American cousins were highly successful in the textile industry, and Tom saw textiles as a quick way to get his foot in the door of the American economy. After a quick takeover, he would turn his ambition to other prominent American industries and make a name for himself. 

Of course, there was other business to attend to on board the ocean liner; confined spaces always offered a fair amount of entertainment for the Riddles as it was the perfect time to play their game. And Tom already had their victim picked out.

Hermione had been brushing her hair out at her dressing table, wishing there weren’t so many flowers in the stateroom when Tom returned from a trip to the smoking room. 

“We’ll be dining with the Weasley family this evening,” he announced. 

She raised a brow and set down her hairbrush. “The whole lot of them?” she asked incredulously. The Weasleys were landed gentry in England, but were likely some of the poorest traveling first class; she was almost surprised they were making the voyage. 

“No, darling,” Tom hummed, crossing the stateroom to gently kiss her cheek. “The youngest boy, Ronald, is accompanying his sister and her fiancé to New York. Apparently the fiancé has an uncle on Wall Street and intends to settle in Manhattan. But you know how unbecoming it is for a young lady to travel with a man who is merely her fiancé.” He said it with a tone that implied he’d not done the same with Hermione when they were engaged.

Hermione smiled, kissing him back. “Yes, of course,” she smiled. “It wouldn’t be proper for a young lady of a certain class to travel alone with a young man without a chaperone.”

Tom watched Hermione get up from her seated position at the dressing table to open the wardrobe with an unfulfilled hunger. They’d been married a little more than a year, and while Tom had admired her mind and her status while they were engaged, he’d grown to value her more than his closest business partners for her brilliantly shrewd style. 

“Which gown should I wear to dinner, my love?” Hermione asked as she took two evening gowns out. “The Poiret from Paris or perhaps the kimono gown designed by Lady Gordon?”

He raised a brow and strode toward her lazily. Hermione felt a familiar flutter in her stomach as he looked her over, hardly paying any mind to the two expensive gowns she was holding. “Green silk... or green silk?” he murmured, stroking her waist gently. “My, such a decision...”

“Make a choice,” Hermione breathed, shivering as his fingers brushed up her neck only to thread through her hair.

A sinister grin spread across Tom’s face as he brushed his lips against hers. “The Poiret, of course,” he grinned. “Now please, dear, set it aside. We have an hour before the bugle call to dress and I... have an idea of how we can spend our late afternoon.”

*****

The first class dining saloon was both a place to see and be seen. As Hermione smoothed the skirt of her evening gown and trained her face to show a look of indifference — something that wasn’t a challenge when she found herself among the upper echelons of society — she spotted many of the notable passengers on the ship; John Jacob Astor and his young wife Madeleine were dining with Archibald Gracie, and it appeared that Bruce Ismay himself was discussing business with none other than Thomas Andrews, the architect of the ship. Hermione wondered briefly if Tom would be seeking out the esteemed architect at some point during their journey; Tom had been interested in the ship’s design ever since the ‘unsinkable’ claim began to grace the newspapers. 

Eventually, they arrived at the table. The Weasley party had beaten them there, and Hermione eyed the red-headed young man that rose awkwardly to his feet to nod to her with curiosity. 

“Hermione, may I introduce Ronald Weasley and his sister, Ginerva. And Miss Weasley’s fiancé, Mr. Harry Potter,” Tom stated. 

“An honor, I’m sure,” Hermione hummed.

As soon as they were seated, Mr. Weasley decided to converse with their new dining partners. In his opinion, he’d never seen quite the odd couple until laying eyes on the Riddles; while he was just as suave and gentlemanly as he’d appeared in the smoking room, she seemed like his polar opposite. Where he was dark and angular, she was light and soft. Mrs. Riddle seemed like the unfortunate but not rare society woman who was trapped in a loveless marriage. 

“What do you think of the ship, Mrs. Riddle?” Ron inquired as the first course was brought out and offered to them. 

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” Hermione replied. “It certainly doesn’t seem any bigger than the _Mauretania_.” Her husband turned his attention away from the oysters he’d been offered to look at her with blatant annoyance.

“You can be blasé about some things, Hermione, but not about Titanic,” Tom stated. “It’s over a hundred feet longer than the _Mauretania_... and far more luxurious.”

The wife managed a small smile for Ron. “Tom and I differ on what is impressive,” she said.

“And what do you find impressive, Mrs. Riddle?” the young Miss Weasley, lovingly referred to as Ginny, asked. 

Hermione smiled over the top of her wine glass, eyes flitting momentarily to Ron before setting her glass down. “The Cliffs of Dover,” she began. “A sunrise or sunset over a Scottish loch. The cool misty mountain air in the morning... the way a chorister’s voice echoes through an ancient cathedral. Those things are impressive to me.”

“My wife has read too much from the Romantic school,” Tom explained. 

“And my husband only takes time to wonder at modern marvels,” Hermione added. 

Plates were taken away and replaced, and Tom’s grip tightened on his soup spoon at Hermione’s backhanded comment. Ron didn’t miss the tense motion, which furthered his dislike of Hermione’s husband.

By the time dishes of French ice cream were being brought out, Ronald Weasley decided that he could not stand Tom Riddle Jr. He couldn’t for the life of him understand why anyone would let such a lovely girl like Hermione marry such a titanic twat; while Riddle was clearly of the best breeding — his accent, his manners and mannerisms, his skill at conversation all implied as much — he did not belong with Hermione. For every point or observation Hermione shared, it was as if Tom had rehearsed a counterpoint; and while it was not becoming of a young lady to challenge her husband in public, Riddle’s remarks could be so scathing that Ron had nearly jumped to her defense more than once. It was like watching Hades and Persephone in real time, except for some reason Demeter had willingly given up such a rare beauty to the King of the Underworld.

When the Riddles announced they would be retiring for the night, Ron walked Ginny back to their stateroom before returning to the smoking room with Harry.

“He’s a right foul git, isn’t he?” Ron complained to his oldest friend.

“Who? Riddle?” Harry asked, a cigarette hanging between his lips. “I’ll say. But Ron, Mrs. Riddle is none of your business. It’s not right for you to interfere between a husband and wife. Don’t do anything reckless, eh?”

*****

_12 April 1912_

Ron watched Tom Riddle leave to make use of the swimming pool before walking up to the door of stateroom B-51. He hesitated only a moment before knocking firmly; for a moment, he considered fleeing down to D Deck and his own stateroom, but when he heard a soft voice call from the other side of the door, his heart pounded.

Hermione was in her dressing robe when she answered the door, her hair freed from the various pins and combs that had held it in place the night before. 

To Ron, she was far more beautiful then than she had been at dinner.

“Oh, Mr. Weasley,” she greeted, a shy smile crossing her face. “Tom just left a moment ago; he likes to exercise in the morning to clear his head... b-but please, do come in.” Hermione moved out of the way and opened the door further, gesturing for Ron to cross the threshold. 

He was taken aback by the luxury of the stateroom; the Riddles and his entourage were traveling in one of the two Deluxe Parlor Suites and while Ron had heard of how beautiful the rooms were, he hadn’t expected such splendor. The room was practically overflowing with flowers, making the air heady and sweet. Everything was perfectly appointed, from the finely upholstered sofas to the gilded Louis Quinze fireplace. Sitting on one of the sofas in her silk dressing robe, Hermione looked nothing short of regal in Ron’s eyes. 

“How may I help you, Mr. Weasley?” Hermione asked. “And please, sit down; there’s no need to stand there just beyond the threshold, staring like I’m the Queen of England.”

“O-Of course,” Ron nodded, taking a seat opposite her. “Mrs. Riddle, I apologize if I am being too forward, but after last night I must admit I feel the need to ask. How did you end up married to Mr. Riddle?”

Hermione’s soft smile faltered for a moment and Ron scrambled to apologize, but she gently raised a hand to silence him. “I admit you’re not the first man to be confused as to why I married Tom,” she hummed. “Most look at us and see nothing more than a marriage of convenience, or some sort of well-planned arrangement. But that isn’t the case at all. Tom and I met my first season out, and... it was a companionate match.” 

“You were young,” Ron stated. “You are young, truly!”

“Your sister is a year younger than I am,” Hermione pointed out. “Yet would you deny such a safe match as your dear friend Mr. Potter appears to be?”

“Ginny is a bit young, but she’s known Harry all her life,” Ron retorted. “She knows the man she is to marry.” His answer only made Hermione raise a brow, and she sat up, crossing her legs at the ankle; the movement shifted her dressing robe, baring some of a slender calve. Ron swallowed.

“You think I do not know my husband?”

“I think, madam, that the man you thought you married and the man you are married to are not the same,” he explained. 

And the perfect porcelain mask Hermione wore faltered just for a moment. She nodded sadly and slowly rose to her feet. “You might be right, Mr. Weasley,” she mumbled. “But... I’m afraid you must leave. Tom will likely be returning shortly and he will not be pleased if he discovers I was entertaining a young gentleman without him present.” 

“Yes, of course,” Ron stated, getting to his feet. Hermione gently pressed a kiss to his cheek before escorting him to the door. “And Mrs. Riddle?”

“Yes?” Hermione gripped the doorknob tightly.

“Stateroom D-14 is available to you whenever you wish to be free from him,” Ron told her. 

Her grip tightened even more, if possible. “Thank you, Mr. Weasley.”

*****

Harry found Ron’s account of his encounter with Mrs. Riddle alarming. 

More alarming to him was the manner in which he encountered the Riddles later that day at the Café Parisien; they seemed less like the bickering married couple he had met in the dining saloon the night prior, and more like a picturesque tableau of two attractive young people in love. 

He filed such a scene away for later. It was all the better for Ron; the sooner he stopped trying to save Mrs. Riddle, the better off he would be.

“Isn’t that Mr. and Mrs. Riddle?” Ginny asked, pointing out the pair. 

“It would appear so,” Harry hummed as they sat down at a table. Ginny was staring at the couple across the cafe, and it made him nervous; there was something about Tom Riddle that he found completely... sinister. The Riddles were old money, like his family and like Ginny’s, but it wasn’t any secret that Tom Jr. wasn’t satisfied with living in an old manor home and raising another generation of landed gentry. 

And his wife, Hermione, was new money; the daughter of an inventor and a female novelist. While Harry didn’t have as much disdain for new money as others, he certainly didn’t trust the unchecked ambition. 

“She’s so elegant,” Ginny sighed softly. “All her dresses must come from the best designers back in Europe; the one she wore to dinner the other evening looked like a Poiret...”

“Do you want a dress like hers?” Harry inquired. 

Ginny raised a brow. “Are you offering, Harry Potter?” she teased. 

“I’ll tell you what,” Harry grinned. “As soon as we are off this boat, we’ll go see some American designer and I’ll buy you whichever dress you fancy most.”

A pleased smile spread across Ginny’s face. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Potter.”

*****

The door to stateroom B-51 slammed loudly behind Hermione as she and Tom returned from their early supper at the café. It hadn’t taken her long to spot Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley, and when she did, it had been clear to her that they’d been paying them more than enough attention.

“They spotted us,” Hermione seethed. 

“Yes,” Tom drawled, lounging on one of the sofas with a cigarette in his mouth. “But do you truly think that whatever Mr. Weasley hears from his friends will stop him once he’s determined to save the damsel in distress?” He took a long drag, the smoke curling around his face like a veil, as if to shield his true nature from the world. “Besides, I learned something rather interesting about our good friend Mr. Weasley just this morning.”

“Oh?” Hermione raised a brow, her frustration subsiding for a moment. “And what did you learn about our newest acquaintance, Mr. Riddle?” She sat opposite him in one of the armchairs, intrigued by whatever bit of knowledge that had caught Tom’s fancy.

“Our Mr. Weasley is traveling with a considerable amount of money,” he stated. “Apparently, his father gave him two thousand dollars American, which is the last of the Weasley family fortune, to invest on the American stock market. And could you, darling wife, take one guess as to where Mr. Weasley is keeping all that money?”

“Why, in stateroom D-14, darling husband?” Hermione laughed. 

“Indeed,” Tom murmured, rising to his feet to close the space between the two of them. He carded his fingers through her hair and kissed her tenderly. “Oh, my clever girl...” Hermione gasped softly against his lips as his hands brushed her waist.

Hermione grabbed the knot of Tom’s necktie and pulled him closer to her; he sunk down to kneel in front of her, his hands bunching up the fabric of her skirt, pushing it up past her knees. 

When his hands found what he was searching for, a small triumphant growl bubbled up from Tom’s throat. 

“Wet for me already, my love?” He pressed a searing kiss to the inside of her thigh while his index and middle finger circled her sensitive bud. Tom dipped his fingers into her heat, curling the just so for a moment to make Hermione gasp, only to pull them out and take them into his mouth, eyes locked with hers.

“What a perverse and filthy man you are,” Hermione teased. “What would our fellow first class passengers think if they knew the truth about you?”

Tom smirked. “Darling, you know I’d make it so they never have the chance to find out the truth.” Without another word, he ducked his head beneath her skirt, his tongue dragging through her folds up to her clit. A shuddering breath came from her parted lips as she grasped his neatly-kept locks, tousling them in the process.

*****

_9:00 am_

_13 April 1912_

Ron skipped the morning tea and pastries that were brought to his stateroom and headed toward B Deck. When he reached B-51, he knocked three times and stood outside patiently. A stewardess answered the door and, upon seeing him, almost closed the door in a hurry.

“Sorry, sir, but Mr. Riddle just departed for the day—”

“I’m not here to see Mr. Riddle,” Ron stated. The stewardess hesitated before opening the door further. As Ron entered, he could hear sniffling coming from the private promenade. Concern blossomed in his chest and he hurried through the stateroom to the promenade where he found Hermione, still seated in her wicker chair, holding her cheek and crying.

“Mrs. Riddle?” Ron inquired, keeping his voice soft and low as not to startle her. 

Hermione looked at him, eyes wide as saucers as she nearly leapt to her feet. “Mr. Weasley!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I’m so sorry... I wasn’t expecting anyone and Tom just left to have a meeting with Mr. Malfoy so—”

“Did he strike you?” Ron asked; she hadn’t removed her hand from her cheek yet.

“It’s nothing, Mr. Weasley, I assure you—”

“Madam,” Ron grasped her wrist. “Answer my question.” She turned away from him and Ron lowered her hand from the side of her face. 

A reddish-purple bruise had already begun to bloom around Hermione’s eye. Ron’s hands dropped to his sides and curled into fists. Hermione snuck a peek at him and was convinced he was going to turn into a tomato, if the redness of his face was any indication. 

“He’s in the smoking room, is he?” Ron started to turn to storm out of the stateroom, but Hermione grabbed his hands to stop him.

“It’s not worth it,” she exclaimed. “Please. Surely there’s another way you can help me?”

He came to a halt. Hermione bit back her grin.

“Perhaps there is something I can do,” Ron mumbled.

*****

Tom returned around lunchtime to find Hermione lounging on the bed, icing the side of her face. He reeked of cigar smoke and wondered why on earth Draco and his other business partners could stand lingering in such a noxious cloud for so long. For a moment, he felt rather guilty at the sight of Hermione; he’d never raised a hand to her before. But it had been her idea, the icing on the cake, she’d said, of playing Weasley right into their hands. So he hadn’t argued, and he hadn’t hesitated. 

“Did it work?” he questioned. 

Hermione sat up, setting the chunk of ice wrapped in a napkin aside. She reached under her pillow and rummaged around for a moment. When she found what she was looking for, she tossed it across the room to Tom. He grabbed the two stacks of money out of the air and raised a brow.

“I am to use the money to find safe passage to Chicago and away from you,” she hummed. “Upon arriving in Chicago, I’ll book a room in the Palmer House and he’ll join me in a week’s time, after Ginny’s wedding.”

Tom crossed the space between them and crawled on top of her with a small growl. “Clever girl,” he murmured. 

*****

_11:30 pm_

_14 April 1912_

“How does a turn about the deck sound?” Astoria Malfoy inquired, looking at Hermione and Tom. She had accompanied her husband on the crossing as she desired to see Manhattan. Hermione didn’t truly like the woman; she was old money and never hesitated to point out that Hermione was not, but whenever she was with her husband and Tom was present, she at least pretended to be polite.

“It’s so dreadfully cold out,” Hermione complained. “And I left my fur in the stateroom... Tom, could you be a dear and fetch it?”

“Of course, darling,” Tom said, kissing her cheek softly before rising to his feet. 

When Tom returned with the fine grey mink coat, Hermione rose to her feet and slipped it on. He offered his arm and she took it, nestling slightly into his side as they went out to circle the boat deck. 

“Would you look at that,” Draco noted before sticking a cigarette in his mouth. “Look at the water; not a ripple in it. It’s as smooth as glass.”

Hermione stopped and looked over the railing down to the sea; sure enough, it was still and calm. “I heard once that it’s harder to spot icebergs when the water’s this calm,” she stated. “It would be wise if they stopped the ship for the night and continue on at daybreak.”

“God himself could not sink this ship,” Tom assured. “And even if she were to hit an iceberg, I’m sure ramming it head-on would ensure its survival; after all, didn’t some German ship do just that in aught-seven?”

“The _Kronprinz Wilhelm_ ,” Hermione provided. 

“Yes, that’s it,” Tom said, pulling Hermione closer. 

“Well, if some kraut liner can survive an iceberg, I have no doubt that a hearty English ship can do the same,” Draco sniffed. 

Suddenly in the distance, the lookout bell sounded three times. Hermione stopped and turned toward the bow where the crow’s nest was located. Tom placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed them. 

“Nothing to worry about,” Draco said. “Probably just spotted some... pack ice...” 

The words trailed from his lips even as the ship glided past a hulking iceberg. It shone eerily in the lights on the ship, and Hermione swallowed hard at just how close it was to them. She could have reached out and touched it if she’d liked. Once the iceberg had passed, the ship came to a sudden halt.

“I’m sure everything is fine,” Tom murmured to her. “After such a close call, I imagine they just want to stop for the night.”

But when Hermione saw a frazzled Thomas Andrews emerge from inside and head toward the wheelhouse, she wasn’t so sure.

“Mr. Andrews!” she called, hurrying after him. “Mr. Andrews!”

“Mrs. Riddle,” he greeted, remembering her from the evening they dined with him. “Please, head inside to your stateroom.”

“Mr. Andrews, I saw the iceberg,” Hermione said. “Is the ship going to founder?”

He hesitated for a moment. “Yes,” he answered.

“But the number—”

“There aren’t enough lifeboats for everyone on board, not by half,” Mr. Andrews explained. “Please, Mrs. Riddle, go with your husband and get your lifebelts on. And prepare to board a lifeboat once the captain chooses.”

Hermione nodded and turned back to Tom. 

“We need to go.”

*****

The small party returned to their staterooms and gathered at the A Deck level of the Grand Staircase with many other first class passengers. Off in the corner, the ship’s musicians were playing music to try and calm curious or anxious passengers. Inside Hermione’s coat pocket, the money Ron had given her was stashed away for safe-keeping. 

It was while watching other women handle their children and patiently cling to their husband’s arms that she noticed the Weasley party arrive. 

“Tom,” Hermione whispered as she nudged him, getting him to follow her gaze.

“I’ll take care of it,” he murmured before crossing the landing. “Mr. Weasley! Care to join me for a smoke? I find it calms the nerves.”

Ron glanced nervously at Harry before nodding. “Of course,” he said. 

“I’ll make sure she gets into a lifeboat,” Harry assured him, giving Ginny’s gloved hand a squeeze. 

“Alright, Riddle,” Ron sighed. “Let’s go for a smoke.”

*****

The smoking room was filled with other first class gentlemen, who were dressed in a wide array of ensembles; while some were still in their dinner clothes like Tom and Ron, Bruce Ismay was in his pajamas and slippers. It was the perfect setting for the final act, Tom thought. And as soon as he’d been offered a cigar, it was time to begin.

“There’s been some gossip amongst the stewards and stewardesses who serve Hermione and me,” he began. “That you’ve been visiting my wife in the mornings after I leave, Mr. Weasley.”

“I won’t deny it, Mr. Riddle,” Ron stated as he accepted a cigar from a steward.

“And why did you find this appropriate?” Tom raised a brow, maintaining an aloof expression. “Because it’s hardly appropriate, Mr. Weasley. And you can imagine how upsetting it was for me to hear that sort of thing spreading through the help.”

“Upsetting enough for you to raise a hand to her?” Ron challenged.

“Didn’t your parents teach you not interfere between a man and his wife?” Tom questioned, keeping his cool. “Besides, Weasley, how did you think this would end? That she would see what a good man you are and run away with you?” A cruel laugh bubbled up from his throat. “That’s exactly what you thought, isn’t it?”

“That’s it,” Ron snarled. “You and me. Right here, Riddle.”

Tom set his cigar aside in an ashtray (though why it mattered at all anymore, he didn’t know) and took off his lifebelt and coat. 

“Go right ahead, Weasley,” he said. “I’ll even let you have the first swing.”

The argument the pair had been having had drawn the attention of the other gentlemen, so when Ron took a swing — only to be quickly restrained by Tom, who’d broken up his fair share of rugby scuffles at Cambridge — everyone took action, including the Master-at-Arms.

“I’ll keep him down in my office until another ship arrives and we can transfer him over there,” the man told Tom. 

“Good man,” Tom nodded, smoothing his hair back before slipping a few bills in the man’s pocket. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to return to my wife.”

*****

He found Hermione on the Boat Deck, waiting quietly to get onto a lifeboat. To his surprise, First Officer Murdoch was allowing a few couples to board together. 

“Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley have already boarded a lifeboat,” she informed him. “We should go next.”

“Of course,” he agreed as they moved forward. Murdoch acknowledged them both and allowed them to board a lifeboat together. Hermione looked long and hard at Tom for a moment, but nestled against him for warmth.

“Where’s Mr. Weasley?” she inquired, like she didn’t have an idea.

“Lost at sea, I’m afraid,” Tom replied. 

*****

Tom created a charming story for Ginny and Harry when they encountered the couple on the _Carpathia_ ; he told them how Ron had refused to take a spot on a lifeboat that should go to a woman or child, but urged Tom to not make a widow of such a fine woman like Hermione. It was enough to bring Ginny Weasley to tears, and Harry Potter thanked him profusely for informing them of what had become of Ron.

“He was a good man,” Hermione told them. “And I’m honored we got to know him, even if it was for so brief a time.”

As the words left her mouth, Hermione checked her pocket once more to make sure the money was still there.

“Thank you for being so kind to him,” Ginny sniffled.

“It’s the least we could do,” Tom assured. “Give our condolences to your family, and we wish you the best of luck with your upcoming nuptials.”

“Thank you, Mr. Riddle,” Harry stated. “If you’re ever in Manhattan, don’t hesitate to call on us.”

The Riddles said their goodbyes to Harry and Ginny, and when the ship finally docked in New York, departed for Boston and their meeting with the Sayres.

After all, they had another game to begin.

**Author's Note:**

> Sink, sank, sunk!
> 
> That’s my take on the Titanic AU; I felt that the Tomione fandom was lacking in them so I hope I did a nice job making an addition.


End file.
